


Tender Is The Night

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Dreamsharing, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 04:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10482090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Cullen has strange dreams, strange, wonderful dreams of a home in the country, children running through the fields, and Evelyn by his side. But dreams have no place in the waking world. Or do they? From the Dragon Age Kink Meme.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I took this prompt from the Dragon Age Kink Meme and ran with it. I hope the anon doesn't mind my interpretation of their prompt, and I hope people enjoy the story!

It started with a dream.

Cullen knew it to be his own. How many times had his heart longed to roam fields full of cat’s tail grass and bright corn flowers? He missed home so much he could not bear to return to it, but he wanted to run his hands over the oxeye daisies and climb those familiar hills once again. He wanted to feel the crunch of pine needles under his boots and smell the sharp scent of the cool wild air. Maker he missed it. He missed it for years. Yet he could not go back. He was older now. Broken now.

Not broken, a patient voice not his own reminded him. Injured and recovering, but never broken. Besides, the voice said with the briskness of a general and nursemaid and bossy stubbornness of someone who never gave up, what is broken can be repaired and refashioned. He was not broken, the voice declared. Just healing. Cullen’s mouth twitches into a brief smile because the voice was the cadence, the tones, the words of the woman he knew slept beside him in the real world. He walked in dreams of a meadow near his boyhood home, but Cullen knew Evelyn was close by.

He had not meant to indulge in a relationship, especially now. It was the worst of ideas. Everything was set against them from the start. What sort of healthy dynamic could a former Knight Captain of Kirkwall’s Templar Order and an Enchanter of the disbanded Ostwick Circle have in a war where those titles meant nothing and everything all at once? They might both wish for peace, but they were molded by circumstance. They were supposed to mistrust each other. They were supposed to hate each other.

Cullen’s instincts screamed at him to keep his distance from a mage who could easily prick her finger and bind herself to a demon. He’d seen it before. Cullen still remembered how pale fingers traced his cheek as the demon that wore the face of a woman he admired purred sweet poison to him and murdered his friends. He remembered her- its- touch. He could not bear another person’s hands on him for months after he was rescued. Cullen couldn’t even touch himself for basic relief for nearly a year, and the simple act disgusted him for some time. The demon’s voice always filled his ears when he was done: Did you enjoy it? I know you did. Wanting power over a helpless mage. So wicked! How perverse! Then it would laugh, a mix of her laugh and an animal’s scream, and Cullen felt hatred for everything, especially himself.

Cullen was ashamed that he let his own shame and self loathing twist him. His behavior in Kirkwall was what he let those demons in the tower make him. They took his strengths: his determination, his devotion, his attentiveness, his strength of body and mind, and they turned them dark. He saw demons in every shadow, abominations in every mage. He did not wield rod or whip or force his will on his charges in Kirkwall, yet Cullen knew these were weak excuses. He never offered them in his defense. He knew he could have done more. He had not served what was best in him. He served what was most base.

He thanked the Maker every day that Evelyn did not know him when he was Knight Captain Cullen of Kirkwall.

Surely Evelyn had her own doubts. Kirkwall’s Knight Captain? A man who turned a blind eye to what happened in his own Order for so long it was nearly too late to save anyone? Someone who had witnessed so many mages turned Tranquil without protest? Templars and Mages did not mingle, but rumors always flew in and between Circles. He heard of the gifted pupil of First Enchanter Lydia of Ostwick when he was in Kirkwall and, if pressed, could have recalled her specialization in medicinal herbs and her particular talent with lightning. He even read the scathing letter she wrote to First Enchanter Orsino demanding information on the group of mages Ostwick sent to Kirkwall to bolster their mage population. Where did they end up, the letter asked, and why has there been no word from them? She wanted answers, and when Cullen reported the letter to Meredith she made them burn all letters from Ostwick to prevent outsiders from stirring up discontent. The mages of Ostwick returned to their original Circle a year later. Of the five, two were made Tranquil. Cullen might not have been there to witness the branding, but that was no excuse. It happened under his watch.

The point was, Cullen knew Evelyn knew all about his history. She had mentioned it before, at first with suspicion, then curiosity, and finally was sympathy. It was more than he deserved.

So Cullen wandered the meadow, fingers brushing against flower petals softer and more vibrant than the finest of velvets. He pondered over how quickly he and Evelyn had changed. Disaster certainly had a way of forcing cooperation if nothing else. He still remembered Cassandra’s grim expression as she introduced the small woman behind her as the person who closed the rift and saved his men. Her dark hair was falling out of its thick braid, slightly matted and dirty and a little bit singed. There was Demon ichor smeared across the curve of her round cheek. Soot dotted her sandy gold skin like the freckles across her broad nose. Her dark eyes were rimmed red with tears yet unshed. Even her mouth, slightly wide and chapped from cold, was set in a fierce line. Everything about her seemed too big for her tiny frame, from the ferocity in her eyes to the way she merely tilted her head to acknowledge his presence. Cullen remembered never feeling so in awe of a person before.

Then he noticed the staff. Mage. He approached with caution, his mind full of that demon in Kinloch, the blood magic of Kirkwall, and Evelyn Trevelyan, Enchanter of Ostwick Circle and newly dubbed Herald of Andraste, did not forget. She treated him with perfect civility, politely offering to serve him tea as they poured over maps in the War Room of Haven, inquiring after his men, offering to fill requests for more medical supplies and armor. Always civil, always the perfect Enchanter cooperating with a Templar, always so cold and polite and never anything else. Cullen chuckled to himself and lay down in the grass to stare up at the perfect summer sky. His dreams had even crafted the perfect puffs of summer cloud to drift on the breeze.

Cullen had hated Evelyn’s cold civility. It would have been easier if she expressed her dislike openly, he thought. But the coolness, the ice queen act, that was the worst. It was hiding, and Cullen despised the hiding, especially when he saw Evelyn warm up so easily to others. Evelyn listened to Solas with his wisdom, Varric and his wit, and both of them with their stories captured her curiosity. Cassandra had her faith, Leliana her quips and surprising kindness, and Josephine made fast friends with her genuine concern. All three of them managed to earn Evelyn’s favor. Blackwell had his gruff practicality, Vivienne was armed with her class and knowledge, and Sera made Evelyn laugh so hard the soldiers found her with tears in her eyes, gasping for air as she desperately tried to explain a joke about frogs that no one quite understood. Then there was Dorian, dashing, daring, snarky Dorian, and he and Evelyn were practically attached to the hip(much to Cullen’s alarm, because mixing the Tevinter Altus mage with the vulnerable Circle enchanter seemed like a disaster.) Even the upfront and brash Iron Bull was Evelyn’s friend. Cullen had almost resigned himself to be the object of the Herald’s cold regard when Haven was attacked. Cullen shut his eyes at the memory.

He thought they were going to die. He was prepared for it. They would bury Haven and themselves with it, but they would defeat an Archdemon and a talking Darkspawn. They would stop a blight. It had to be enough. But then Evelyn Trevelyan, mage, Enchanter, Herald, shoved a yowling black cat into his hands and demanded that he lead the people out of Haven and “keep Blackberry safe for me.” He told her that perhaps she could find a way to defeat the monster descending on the village, but all she did was look back at him. Her eyes said it all. She would not survive, but she could save them. She had chosen her path. So Cullen let her go, and he carried that damn screaming cat up the mountain, its sharp little teeth gnawing at his leather gloves the entire march up. Haven was buried under snow, and Cullen was weighed down with guilt at every step. He should have been more prepared. His shield was down and now innocents were dead. The Herald was dead. She protected them all and he couldn’t even return the favor. So when she did the impossible and stumbled into their camp two days later, barely awake as she fell into the snow, Cullen decided it was a second chance. They could be better this time. They could try again on better terms. 

He spoke to Evelyn again and was surprised to receive a cautious sort of warmth instead of polite coolness. She shyly confessed that she had been afraid before quickly concealing herself behind politeness again and running off to the next person, the next task at hand. But Cullen realized then, as he had when Haven was falling around their ears, that he was wrong about Evelyn Trevelyan. She was not a cold lady, or a pampered noble, or a clueless Enchanter. She was concerned and engaged and terribly afraid, and she was trying to open up to him. Who was he to deny her overtures of friendship? If cool politeness was her shield, then Cullen knew how to get around it.

He offered cautious friendship in the form of a chess match and, as he anticipated, Evelyn eagerly accepted. Their friendship blossomed from that day on. She smiled and laughed and swept into his office with tea and food and reports. She showed him how she was training with a sword to become a Knight Enchanter, and asked for his input. She even found the time to write private field letters where she reported the circumstances in the countryside and her various discoveries. Cullen found himself swept up in her warmth and enthusiasm and before he knew it words turned to whispers, and whispers turned to kisses. He watched another fluffy cloud shaped like a bunny drift past, and he smiled. No, it was not a wise decision to get involved with Evelyn Trevelyan, but he could not make himself regret it.

“Oh! And look at that! This is Crystal Grace, very rare in these parts. And see this? Elderflower! You can tell by the leaves that it’s elderflower.” A woman’s voice explained from a distance, and Cullen pulled himself up from the grass as a dark haired woman walked across the meadow. Three tow headed children followed her as they picked their way around the grass and trees. Cullen recognized the woman’s figure, her walk, the way her voice raised and lowered as she spoke of milkweed and caterpillars. He smiled. Of course Evelyn would feature in his dreams. She was never far from his thoughts.

“Mooom, can we please stop walking?” The little boy whined. “We’ve been out here forever!”

“It’s not been that long, Elias.” The girl explained, but she bit her lip in a way that was purely Evelyn. “But mom, we shouldn’t walk so far from the house in your condition.”

“Nonsense.” Evelyn said cheerfully. “I traveled half of Thedas when I was carrying you, Leila. A brisk afternoon stroll in the mountains is relaxing!” Evelyn bent over another plant and started to describe its many culinary and medicinal uses while the children- her children- groaned and complained.

“Aunt Evelyn.” The oldest boy in the group, nearly a teenager, said. “Uncle Cullen said you can’t go any further than the blackberry patch right now. We should go back.”

“Your uncle is a notorious worrywort, Carter. Go ask all the soldiers he commanded, they’ll say the same thing.” Evelyn replied, but Cullen was fixated on the word uncle. Uncle. Aunt. Mother. 

It was his dream, and he could admit to wanting more than stolen moments and hidden kisses in those moments between sleep and waking, when all he could hear was Evelyn’s soft breathing and her cat purring. But this was… it was beyond anything he could have hoped for. A family. He’d given up on having one, but his dreams sang a different song.

“But fine.” Evelyn said to the children. “We’ll go back. No need to make anyone else anxious.” They left the meadow then, walking through the grass and wildflowers, and Cullen finally saw the curve of Evelyn’s stomach, the swelling indicating the impending birth of another child. Two children already, soon to be three. Or four. Possibly more, and Cullen felt light headed as she walked away, holding the youngest boy, Elias’s, hand and rattling off the curative properties of chamomile. Children. His children. With her.

It was quite the dream.

Cullen kept his dream to himself when he woke up. He turned over in bed and held Evelyn close. He brushed kisses against her eyelids and when she wrinkled her nose and tried to squirm her way back under the covers he slipped his cold hands on her naked back. Her indignant screech and flustered scolding woke him up and made him laugh, even as she declared “Cullen Stanton Rutherford, you are a scoundrel!”

Her pout was glorious, and Cullen kissed her as he buried his longing deep in his heart. Now was not the time for dreams of marriage and children. They had a war to win and, Cullen thought as he dressed and felt his very bones ache, he had his own monsters to conquer. Marriage would have to wait, and Evelyn had so much more to live for and experience. Cullen couldn’t chain her to him now, he decided while walking down the halls of the keep to the war room. He would wait.

“You seem happy this morning, Commander.” Leliana remarked, cutting through Cullen’s daydreaming about dream Evelyn and their children. Three! He wasn’t certain he could convince Evelyn to even have one baby, let alone three. A question for the future, if they managed to survive to see it. Yet every day seemed more hopeful than the day before it. Maybe someday...

“Certainly distracted.” Josephine added with a sly smile. “He must have had the good night’s sleep. And Inquisitor Trevelyan had a bounce to her step.”

“We should return to our work.” Cullen replied. “How is our influence in Orlais?”

“The Inquisitor hasn’t arrived yet.” Cassandra pointed out. Her sharp eyes were looking pointedly at Cullen, as if she blamed him for Evelyn’s delayed appearance.

“But we can interrogate our dear Commander before she arrives to rescue him.” Leliana said, a little smile on her face. Cullen tried to avoid her eyes. Nightingale's eyes, the bards sang, eyes that discovered all sorts of secrets. The bards didn’t realize that Leliana used those eyes to pry secrets from her companions.

“I do hope you let her rest, Commander.” Josephine teased, and Cullen never forgot that under the silk and pleasantries Josephine was just as vicious as her friend. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

“I hope we are all well rested.” Cullen retorted. Josephine was far too sly. Cassandra snorted, a sound that seemed to convey her disbelief and minor irritation at his fraternization with the Herald.

“But of course, Commander. Today will be a long day.” Leliana said as the door opened, and Evelyn pushed her way in with a large tray covered in teapots and several teacups in her hands. An older woman followed her, holding another tray filled with pastries. Steam curled over the fresh buns, and they smelled of sugar and cinnamon. The crushed pecans on top of the pastry gleamed with sugar.

“I thought we could use a treat this morning. We’re going to be here for a while.” Evelyn said cheerfully as she set her tray down and took the other from the old woman. “Thank you, Martha.” Evelyn poured out tea and smiled, and when Cullen reached out to take his own mug his fingers brushed against Evelyn’s. He could feel the warmth of her skin through his leather gloves.

“We should get started.” He murmured, taking the mug from her. Evelyn smiled at him, a private smile all for him. It was a tiny curve of her lips, her eyes seemed to dance with an inner light, and her eyebrows lifted up in an inquisitive manner. Are you alright, her eyes seemed to ask, and Cullen tilted his head to acknowledge her before returning his own smile. Yes, of course. 

“Yes.” Evelyn agreed. “Are there any more reports on rifts?” Evelyn walked by him, but she brushed her hand against his arm before she took her place by Josephine and Cassandra to plot the next trip out of Skyhold. 

Cullen let himself indulge in gazing at her and marveling at how quickly she made herself presentable. Her hair was neatly bound in a braid twisted and pinned into a neat little knot at the back of her head. Her plain white linen shirt was perfectly pressed, and her green wool tunic was just as neat. No one would have guessed that this morning her hair was a wild black river against their pillows and her calm expression could turn mischievous in an instant. Cullen shook his head and returned his attention to the map spread in front of him. They had work to do.

-

Cullen was preoccupied with the waking world, and for some time his sleep was dreamless. But one night he was alone in his tower office, sitting at his desk and staring at the candle flame. Evelyn was gone, traveling across the Hinterlands to close a few rifts reported in the area. He missed her. He missed her warmth in his bed, he missed her smile. He missed the quiet she brought with her. His head buzzed restlessly, he felt unfocused, he longed for the clarity lyrium would give him. But he resisted. Five more minutes at this desk, he told himself, and he would be able to resist the lyrium’s siren song. Ten more minutes with his reports and drafting orders. Twenty. An hour. Two hours. Cullen fell asleep at his desk, and the longing went with him as he dreamed.

“I’m hopeless at cooking and you know it.” Evelyn complained to a rather indistinct shape. She and the shape stood in a sunny kitchen. A humble kitchen, to be sure, but its walls were clean stucco painted white, the fire crackled bright in the hearth, and the oak floors were swept clean. A faded rag rug lay out on the floor, and Evelyn’s sleek black cat, Blackberry, snoozed on top of it, her paws kneading the air. Evelyn was wearing leggings and a bright blue tunic, and her hair hung loose down her back. She was smiling at the figure, her hands covered in sticky dough and flour smeared across the bridge of her nose.

“You’ll just have to try again.” The shape said, and though the voice was hazy, the delivery and words were the bossy tones of his sister Mia. The voice was distorted, and Cullen wondered if Mia seemed so hazy in his dream because he had gone so long without seeing his sister. Her golden curls and teasing words were all that truly identified the blurry figure as Mia.

“You and Cullen are so hard headed, I’m surprised you agreed to lessons.” Mia added. “But it isn’t a complete failure. Your dough is just over-proved, that’s all!”

“I have to try again.” Evelyn insisted. “And you can tell me all sorts of stories about Cullen while I try again.” She bumped her hip against Mia’s and returned her attention to the dough in the big clay bowl.

“You are devious!” Mia crowed. “Did you know that he always called you ‘Inquisitor’ in his letters? Or ‘Her Worship.’ He was fond of that one. The first time he wrote your name it was so small it was practically a speck on the parchment!” Evelyn giggled and swept a strand of hair off her forehead with the back of her wrist.

 

“Oh yes!” Evelyn replied. “He showed me some of your letters. I knew I liked you as soon as I read what you wrote.” The two women giggled and Mia continued her cooking lesson. Cullen sat down on the floor of the kitchen and pet the dream Blackberry’s warm fur and basked in the women’s laughter and the warmth of the sun. The lyrium no longer called out to him.

 

It was a good dream.

 

“You look happy.” Blackwall commented. He had joined Cullen in training with the troops, but now they were resting. Blackwall hit fast and hit hard, and Cullen knew he’d be sporting his fair share of bruises tomorrow.

“Hmm?” Cullen didn’t realize he seemed happy. “I suppose I am in high spirits.”

“Happy to see the Inquisitor again?” Blackwall asked, and he chuckled when Cullen felt his face flush hot. “Very happy. Soldiers never change. Give her some time to rest, Commander.”

“I’ll just be happy to have her safe and healthy in Skyhold again.” Cullen replied. That seemed to be neutral enough. There were a lot of rumors already flying around Skyhold, and Cullen treasured what privacy he could get. They both did. Perhaps it was a product of living in the Circle, but there was still a part of Cullen that felt that he was betraying his vows when he was with Evelyn. No fraternization. But he was no longer a Templar. It was not forbidden.

“You’d have a smaller audience if you didn’t pounce the Boss the moment she rides over the bridge.” Iron Bull called out. He strode across the yard and settled down on a crate in one smooth movement. Cullen wondered how Bull could have possibly known what he was thinking, but his eye glimmered and a smirk crossed his craggy face.

“You’ve got an expressive face, Commander. Bet you wore a helmet all the time when you were in the Circle.” Bull explained. “You get this furrow between your eyebrows when you’re annoyed. You could manage it with some training, but you have enough on your plate.”

“Ah.” Cullen sighed, because there really was no point in hiding anything from The Iron Bull. He was upfront and brash, but he was still a spy through and through. Ben-Hassrath.

“I don’t like having an audience, it just… happens.” Cullen admitted. He watched as scouts and soldiers hurried across the courtyard. He and Evelyn had so little time together, catching spare moments between their duties and every small emergency that crossed their paths. He could admit to selfishly wanting a little more time with Evelyn all to himself. Cullen just wanted a few moments with her without eyes watching them or snide commentary. He just… he just wanted, and he so rarely wanted anything in his life. Cullen was learning that wanting was not a sin.

“Plenty of spies.” Blackwall said. “Everyone keeps tabs on you two lovebirds.” The man was teasing him. Cullen knew he was being teased. But there was a note of sympathy in his voice, and Cullen found he didn’t mind the teasing too much. Better to be teased for being in love than to not be teased and not know love at all.

“And you’re terrible at discretion, Cullen. Your expression gives everything away” Bull added. “Not like Eve’s any better. Boss is always giving you those heartsick looks when you’re not looking.”

Cullen was about to say that it didn’t sound like his Evelyn. Evelyn’s every action and expression were controlled. She was incredibly reserved. But Maker, he thought of the laughing woman in the kitchen with his sister, of the woman guiding their children through the meadows. She was a dream woman, but Cullen also saw her in the woman who smiled at him when she handed him a mug of tea. He wanted Evelyn to feel like she could always smile and be free with him, but there was history in their titles. Mage and Templar. They had a lot to dismantle before they could rebuild. 

There was a commotion and rushing about near the front gates, and a scout hurried towards them.

“You’ve got business to attend to, Cullen.” Blackwall said gruffly. “Get to it.”

“Get her to relax, Cullen.” Bull laughed. “Or she’ll get you to relax, however you two work.” Cullen ignored both of them to pay attention to the scout in front of him. The man shifted his eyes nervously, and Cullen recognized the man’s thin face. Jim was always the unfortunate messenger sent to interrupt him.

“Ser, the Inquisitor has returned.” Jim stated. He glanced over to Blackwall and Iron Bull, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“She’s in her chambers, Ser. I thought you should know first.” Jim added.

“Thank you, Jim.” Cullen replied, and he stood up. “Bull, Blackwall. I’ll speak with you later.”

“Take your time.” Bull teased as Cullen walked away, but he ignored it. Evelyn went to her room instead of the war room? She always called her advisors together to give a report before resting. He tried to reassure himself by acknowledging that Evelyn was more than capable of assessing her needs. If she was injured she would go to the infirmary. She must be tired, Cullen told himself. That was all. But he sped up to a light jog until he reached the great oak door of Evelyn’s chamber. He lifted his hand and knocked.

“Andraste’s Tits!” Evelyn’s muffled voice cursed. “Five minutes is all I ask- who is it?” Her voice turned sweetly polite as she asked the question, but Cullen knew she was hiding her irritation.

“Me.” Cullen glanced around and noticed the guards who were pointedly ignoring his presence. “I was worried.”

“Cullen?” Evelyn’s relief was palpable. “If it’s just you, you can come in. If Leliana or Josephine or anyone else is trying to get in, I give you full permission to make them run laps around the courtyard or something.”

“I’m coming in now.” Cullen called out before he opened the door and stepped inside. He quickly shut it behind him and looked around the room. There were no bloodstains on the floor, which was good. But there was a trail of half burnt clothing covered in demon blood. Evelyn’s staff was propped up in its stand, and her travel bag was set on the floor. The clothing trail disappeared behind a painted wood screen.

“Evelyn?” Cullen asked as he poked around the mess of ruined clothing. At least the light armor she wore was mildly scratched. No holes. Cullen told himself to stop worrying, but his mind painted a thousand different scenarios as he approached the screen.

“Sorry.” Evelyn apologized, and she poked her head out. Her hair was loose and filthy, and her face covered in dirt and blood. “It’s not mine, I swear! I just have bruises on top of bruises this time.”  
She was alive and whole, and Cullen found the tightness in his chest easing. She came back again.

She came back this time.

“You could have fractures.” Cullen pointed out. Her knuckles were raw, and she looked so tired. She had wrapped a towel around herself, but Cullen saw the beginnings of a bright blue bruise on her shoulder and various scratches all along her legs. At least someone had filled a large tub with hot water, and Evelyn was scrubbing her arms and legs with a wet washcloth to remove the dirt and blood.

“I trained as a healer. I’d know if I had a fracture.” Evelyn said, her voice firm  
as she washed dirt off her face. “I just need to clean up and apply an ointment to reduce swelling.”

“What happened?” Cullen asked. He took a hair tie and bundled Evelyn’s hair up. She would want to soak in the tub before washing it.

“Ran into some Red Templars and a Venatori group. Beat them, then ran from a bear.” Evelyn explained. “Then on the way back I closed a rift. That’s where most of the damage comes from. Rage demon surprised me. Cassandra killed it.” She stepped into the tub and hissed.

“Fuck!” She exclaimed. “May I borrow your arm, Cullen?” He offered his arm wordlessly and Evelyn gripped it tightly and hauled herself out of the tub. Water dropped down her calves and onto the rug.

“Too damn hot.” Evelyn muttered. “I should jump in and adjust.” She glared at the steaming water as if it personally offended her.

“Picky.” Cullen teased.

“I earned a hot bath and decent meal.” Evelyn sniffed. “I can barely move, I was practically sewn into my saddle these past few days.”

“If you took the time to stretch you wouldn’t be so sore.” Cullen said. It was a familiar lecture, one he often repeated.

“If I took the time to stretch I would ride in at midnight.” Evelyn retorted. It was a familiar reply. “I’m going to try again.” Using his arm for balance, Evelyn hopped back into the bath. She stood for a minute, then tore off the towel and dropped into the water. But Cullen still saw her body, and more importantly he saw the massive bruising all along her right side.

“Evelyn.” Cullen said, and he could feel his anger rising. Not at her. At the creatures who hurt her, at the circumstances they were thrown into. She wasn't trained to fight, she was a researcher. She had to learn, she was skilled now, but she should have never had to go out there to face demons. That was what he was supposed to do. Cullen felt the self hatred well inside him. Useless! He was helpless and could only send her out to fight battles he should fight. If he was still a Templar he could fight by her side. He had given the Chantry more than he was giving the woman he loved- useless, useless, useless!

He should be taking lyrium.

“I told you it was a rage demon. Surprised me.” Evelyn said, pointedly ignoring him as she used another washcloth and a bar of soap to scrub and her legs.

“You need to go to the infirmary.” Cullen said, and he reached out to press his fingers against the bruises. He couldn’t feel any broken ribs, but he felt Evelyn flinch at the touch. He withdrew his hand. “As soon as you’re clean and dressed, we go to a healer.”

“I am a healer! I know how bad it is.” Evelyn protested. “It’s just bruised. We don’t need me taking up another bed when we have enough injuries already.”

“You are just as important as any other member of the Inquisition.” Cullen replied. “You will go to a healer.” 

“I’m not a child, Cullen.” Evelyn said, and her voice was sharp. Scolding.

“You’re being irresponsible with your health.” Cullen tried to say calmly, but he knew he sounded irritated.

“I’m being reasonable!” Evelyn exclaimed.

“You can’t take unnecessary risks.” Cullen said. This was a familiar argument. How many times had they fought like this?

“Because I’m a vital resource for the Inquisition, I’m so damned important, irreplaceable, who else can you all parade around-” Evelyn started to rant, her patience obviously strained. He should have noticed. She was hurt and tired, she didn’t need a lecture on top of it all.

“That’s not-” Cullen started to protest because Evelyn was not an object to show off, but she continued to speak.

“I swear, if I could cut off this stupid glowing hand you could just name it Inquisitor and Herald instead! Easier than escorting a mage around Southern Thedas.” Evelyn said bitterly. “A hand doesn’t think or anything. Put it on a velvet cushion and let the people pay their respects, that’s all they respect anyhow.” She dipped herself lower in the water until only her eyes were exposed. The anger and hurt lingered in the air like smoke after a fire, like the tingling in the air after a lightning strike.

“I was worried.” Cullen whispered, breaking the silence. “I, that is, we- I was worried.” Confessing his fears felt strange. He was supposed to be strong. No Templar spoke of their fears, especially to a mage. But he was no Templar, and Evelyn was no Circle mage. Evelyn deserved his honesty.

“I hate sending you out there. I know how important it is. You’re the Inquisitor. You have to lead the people. You’re needed on the front lines.” Cullen said. “Not your mark, but you. You’re level headed and kind. You are the person the people need, someone who will help the common people. But Maker, I hate putting you in danger.”

Evelyn slowly sat up in the tub, raising her head out of the water. She did not turn to look at him, but Cullen knew she was listening.

“I have to command our forces, and while you’re the Inquisitor you’re also one of our soldiers.” Cullen said, though it was more appropriate to call Evelyn one of the shock troops than a soldier. “I have to send you out to fight. But I’m not always the Commander, and I… I don’t want you to get hurt. I can’t see you as another piece to move on the map.” He could rationalize sending the Inquisitor, who could close the rifts into the Fade and negotiate with warring groups, into battle. It was harder to send Evelyn Trevelyan, who played with her cat and brought people tea and food and always offered her ear and sympathy to those in need.

“I know you’re capable. I know you are strong.” Cullen said. “But someday I fear you won’t come back. You’ve had more luck than most.” He thought of every mission he sent her on, he thought of Haven, of Redcliffe, of the explosion at the Conclave. Evelyn had been fortunate, but luck always ran out. Cullen knew from experience. His own fortunes were just as whimsical as hers.

“I’m sorry I got angry.” Evelyn finally said. “I know you worry. You… you worry a lot.”

“I know you do as well.” Cullen replied. “You love to lecture me about my health.”

“Someone has to.” Evelyn murmured. She leaned back against the lip of the tub, her eyes closed and her breathing deep and even. They were silent for some time, and Cullen took the time to undo the clasps of his armor until he was dressed in his linen shirt and pants. He tossed his mantle over the wooden screen. The steam from the bath and the roaring fire made it too hot to wear.

“It was a mess.” Evelyn said, her voice soft and far away. “So many burnt villages. So much violence. I pulled a child out of a burning barn. Her parents were killed by rogue Templars because they hid a mage in their home.”

“What happened to the mage?” Cullen asked, because he knew Evelyn wouldn’t have rested until she knew everything.

“Turned into an abomination to try and protect the girl. He was desperate. Solas delivered the killing blow. I couldn’t even give him the mercy stroke.” Evelyn sighed and ducked her head under the water. When she emerged she undid the string tying her hair up and picked up the bar of soap to work into a lather in her hands.

“The girl is in the Infirmary now. I couldn’t leave her behind.” Evelyn murmured. “She’s no more than five, Cullen, and she’s lost everything. I was too late.”

“You saved her. You did what you could.” Cullen said firmly. He moved until he was kneeling across the way and could see Evelyn’s face. She was staring down at her knees. The rose out of the tub like small islands of gold.

“It wasn’t enough.” Evelyn said. “It just wasn’t enough.” There were no tears, but her shoulders shook. Cullen took the soap from her hands and gently scrubbed at the ends of her hair.

“It never is. Not for people like us.” Cullen said. He knew this would haunt her as every death haunted him. A little more time, a bit more warning, and perhaps a few more lives would be saved. Those possibilities tormented them.

Evelyn finished her bath in silence. Cullen helped her wash her hair and dress, and they sat in front of the fire and watched the flames as her hair dried.

“Cassandra will want notes. You will too, I suspect.” Evelyn finally said. The firelight danced on her skin.

“You can wait a day. You don’t have to be the Inquisitor right now, Evelyn.” Cullen replied, and his heart still beat faster when Evelyn granted his a grateful, tired smile.

“Thank you, Cullen.” Evelyn sighed and curled up next to him, propping her chin on his shoulder. “I’m glad you came to see me. I needed… I needed a friendly face.”

“You’re welcome.” Cullen said, and they watched the fire in peace.

-

Cullen had more dreams after that afternoon by the fire, dreams that ran into each other with no apparent rhyme or reason. There were dreams of Evelyn running around the home in the countryside, only a day’s ride from South Reach. There were dreams of her humming snatches of songs as she collected chicken eggs and repaired clothing, then rode a horse into town to visit family. His family, Cullen realized, and it was strange to realize how much he wanted Evelyn to met his brother and sisters. Brandon would be intimidated by her titles, Rosalie would demand stories of all the finery she experienced, and Mia would be her overbearing self, but they would love her. His parents would have loved her too, and Cullen felt a pang of sorrow at the thought that they would never know the woman he loved. But the dreams kept him company when Evelyn was away, and he slept through the night watching his heart’s desire play out in front of him.

She had some other work as well, constantly writing letters and traveling out to town for some business, but most often Cullen found Evelyn in their home, happy and surrounded by children. The amount of children changed in every dream, but there were always children involved. Save for one dream, the first time Cullen actively participated in one.

In the waking world Evelyn was traveling the Hissing Wastes to investigate a report on the missing Wardens with Cassandra, Blackwall, and Cole. Cullen had fallen asleep in his own bed, the pang of loneliness filling his heart. When he woke it was by Evelyn’s side, in that warm home in the woods. Evelyn turned over in bed and nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder.

“War injuries keeping you up?” She mumbled, and her rough fingers traced a path up his neck to his cheek and forehead. Cullen shook his head.

“No. Missed you.” Cullen replied, because it was his dream and Maker’s Breath he missed her. He hated sending her off into danger and staying behind at Skyhold, waiting and useless. At least in these dreams he was with her.

“Mmmm. The baby keeps kicking. Restless like you.” Evelyn said, and Cullen felt the roundness of her belly pressed against him. Baby. His dreams were oddly fixated around children, but the idea pleased him. Family. He’d like to have one someday.

“May I?” Cullen asked hesitantly, because even a dream version of Evelyn should give her permission. Evelyn blinked her dark eyes open and grinned at him.

“Are you going to serenade us again?” She teased, but she placed his hand against her stomach. “Ugh, now he settles down. You’re trying to make me look crazy in front of your father, aren’t you?” She glared at her stomach.

“He?” Cullen asked.

“I haven’t checked with any potions or magic, just a theory. When I was carrying Elias I couldn’t stop eating carrots. I was like a rabbit.” Evelyn sighed wistfully. “They grow up fast, don’t they?”

“Children tend to do that.” Cullen replied, charmed by the detail his dreams had conjured. This dream Evelyn was his in every way, save for her pregnancy. Her belly was taut against his palm. A child. Their child. Maker, he wanted that.

“My parents didn’t watch me grow up.” Evelyn said suddenly. “I was presented to them, not raised by them. I had a nursemaid, then a nanny, then a bevy of tutors. They were discussing finishing schools when I manifested my powers. Then I got shipped off to Ostwick and they never saw me again.” Her voice was a small, bitter thing, so open and honest and hurt, and Cullen rarely heard her speak this way. She only grew this open when her nerves had been rubbed raw from stress and exhaustion. Evelyn, his Evelyn, always dodged the subject of her childhood with an artful “we do not speak much.” How could his mind have made up an entire history that sounded all too real?

“Must have been easy for them, to get rid of a daughter they barely knew.” Evelyn stated with the forced casual tone of someone who was hurt and pretending not to be. “I was an embarrassment. I couldn’t stand still as a child, I always ran off when mother had her parties, I ruined so many dresses when I played in the gardens…”

“Evelyn?” Cullen asked, and Evelyn buried her face into his chest. He felt hot tears against his skin, and he held her closer. This may be a dream, but Cullen couldn’t deny her comfort.

“Must be hormonal.” Evelyn muttered to herself. “Even a dream pregnancy fucks with my mind. I’m a mess.”

“Evelyn?” Cullen whispered. This was not… what was she saying? He knew these were strangely detailed dreams, but he had not realized his own mind had made Dream Evelyn self aware. And he could not have wandered so far into the Fade that he was dealing with demons.

“Sorry.” Evelyn nuzzled against him. “Hormonal. These dreams tend to get to me. Not that you would understand, you’re just a product of my fantasies. Pathetic, isn’t it? I can’t even tell the real you about my life before the Circle.” She sighed and propped her heavily pregnant body up on her elbows. Cullen could only stare at her, her long black hair free from its customary braid, the moonlight turning her golden skin silver.

“I think you would be a wonderful father, Cullen.” Evelyn said plainly, and she never spoke plainly when it came to matters of the heart. “A wonderful father and an excellent husband. I just don’t know if I’m cut out for a family. I didn’t have the best of examples to learn from.” She frowned at that, and Cullen reached for her. But before he could pull her back into his arms, she faded away and he woke up in his own tower bedroom, sunlight pouring on his face and Blackberry yowling in his ear. Cullen sat up in bed at stared at the sunlight lazily pouring into his room, struck dumb by the revelation his dreams gave him.

These were not his dreams.

They were Evelyn’s.

At first he thought it was the work of demons. Demons were always the first thought when it came to the Fade. But he quickly dismissed the theory. He felt no demonic influence in Evelyn’s dreams. Evelyn was also an attentive mage who would have noticed and resisted any demon. He trusted her. She would have told him or at least informed Cassandra if she felt she was compromised. If Evelyn was under demonic influence they would have noticed. Someone, Dorian, Solas, Vivienne, Leliana, any of them would have seen a change. Cullen would have seen a change.

Cullen also knew how demons worked. They would have been unable to settle with illusions of a simple countryside life. They would have tried to woo Evelyn with power, prestige, wealth, and the adoration of the people. They wouldn’t know what to do with a quiet life with children. Too many details to maintain. A demon would slip up, or squabble with other demons, or have done something to tip one of them off. They certainly would not have let Cullen slip into Evelyn’s dreams and risk discovery. There were always reports of demons using the lure of family to entrance Templars and mages before, but Evelyn’s dreams were not perfection. He witnessed the children whining and squabbling, Evelyn failing at cooking, her own complaints about pregnancy and how it changed her body. A demon would not craft so many little problems into their world. The only conclusion was that the dreams were Evelyn’s creation that Cullen was intruding upon. The greatest question in his mind was now how he did it.

He went to Dorian first. Vivienne would lecture him, Cole was gone (and the spirit boy wouldn’t understand that people couldn’t naturally float into other people’s minds and memories), and Solas tended to unnerve him with his too wise eyes and cutting observations. Dorian would tease and scoff, but he was well read and clever and had a good heart under all the puffed up arrogance. He would help.

“So.” Dorian drawled out as he flipped through some arcane tome of his. “You’re a voyeur. Didn’t think you had it in you, Commander.”

“I didn’t do it deliberately!” Cullen replied. He could already feel a headache building behind his eyes. “I thought they were my dreams, not hers!”

“Your shared domesticity makes my stomach turn.” Dorian said dryly. “But no, running around into other people’s dreams is not a common skill. Somniari are rare. Are you sure you don’t have magic in your bloodline?”

“I don’t know.” Cullen muttered, suddenly tired. “Evelyn didn’t realize I was real. She thought I was part of her dream.” It stung his pride a bit to realize that Evelyn was more comfortable talking to what she thought was her imagination than speaking to him.

“And you didn’t correct her?” Dorian asked as he settled back down into his padded armchair.

“I woke up before I could.” Cullen replied. He also wondered if the truth would alarm Evelyn. She might think he was a demon and panic. She could get hurt. Or, he admitted, she would more likely hurt him. The Fade tended to favor mages over warriors.

“I’ll look into it. You should speak with Solas. He is our resident Fade expert.” Dorian smirked as he took in Cullen’s somewhat hesitant expression. “You could also talk to Varric.”

“Varric? But dwarves don’t dream.” Cullen wondered how much Dorian had been drinking to suggest such a thing, but Dorian merely wagged his finger at him.

“Ah, but that doesn’t mean Varric isn’t a treasure trove of information.” Dorian explained. “And Varric is irritatingly observant. Just like Bull. They could offer a few suggestions from an alternate perspective, as it were.”

Cullen left Dorian to his books and traveled the keep to speak with Varric. He found the dwarf sorting through a pile of correspondence and tossing letters into the fire. Most of the pile was slowly being consumed by flames, but a few remained on the table.

“Curly! Taking a break?” Varric asked jovially as he snatched the letters from view. The only words he managed to read were in a shaky hand that said “He is safe. Will write.” Varric gestured to an empty chair and grinned his gambler’s grin. That charming one that made everyone feel at ease. Varric could sell a snake its own venom and make it feel like it was a bargain.

“Go on, not too often that you visit. How are the recruits?” Varric laughed when Cullen opened his mouth to inform him about his latest drill, and he realized Varric was teasing him.

“I wanted to ask you some questions.” Cullen said instead.

“Whatever Cassandra thinks I did, I didn't do it. And Hawke is not involved.” Varric said automatically.

“What? No! I wanted to talk about… talk about Evelyn.” Cullen confessed. It felt wrong to pry into his lover’s personal life, especially when he hadn’t asked her. It was invasive. It was what Knight Captain Cullen might have done, snooping and investigating a mage and not caring for the person. He was a different man. Or at least he wanted to be.

“Hmm? What’s Her Inquisitorial-ness done? Lovers spat?” Varric asked, and his fingers twitched towards his quill.

“No.” Cullen said shortly. He was only asking because he was worried and Evelyn was at least four days away. He couldn’t ask her himself.

“Planning to make an honest woman of her, Curly?” Varric questioned, a sly smile on his face. Despite his broad features, there was something utterly vulpine about the way he acted. He was a trickster in every way.

“That, well, the timing is- no. Not yet.” Cullen stuttered. It was just all the domestic dreams he was sharing with Evelyn that were making him want marriage and children. That was all. They weren't suited for it yet. He wasn't strong enough to support her. Not yet.

“Eh, hit close enough to the mark.” Varric replied easily. “Don’t let Cassandra know, she’ll preach at you.”

“Has Evelyn ever spoken of her life before the Circle? Her family?” Cullen asked. When speaking with Varric it was best to say what you wanted straight out. Otherwise he pulled stories out of you until you were worn out and gave him what he wanted. He had already fallen into the trap. Varric was too smooth.

“So that’s what this is all about? You want little Commanders and Inquisitors running around Skyhold?” Varric joked. “A little army of Rutherford Trevelyans to terrorize us all?”

“Not yet!” Cullen said sharply, but Varric only raised an eyebrow in response. “Please, Varric. If you could tell me anything, I would appreciate it.” Cullen pleaded.

“She pointedly avoids the subject.” Varric replied easily. “Mentioned that she has six older brothers and a grandmother once when Sera got her drunk, but she doesn’t talk about parents or her childhood.”

“Nothing else?”

“Nope. That a good enough answer for you?”

“It will do.” Cullen said, feeling more exhausted than he thought he could ever feel from just a simple talk. “Thank you, Varric.”

“A word of advice.” Varric drawled. “Talk to her. Maybe somewhere quiet. A little romantic. Tends to ease the edges on those hard conversations.”

“Or set up a scene for your latest novel.” Cullen muttered as he left the room, but Varric’s ears were sharper than he first thought.

“I have an imagination, you know! I can craft a romantic setting when I want to!” Varric called out after him. Cullen waved goodbye before Varric could pry more information out of him. Too clever.

Trying to speak to Sera was an almost fruitless task. Between her fast talking and ruthless teasing Cullen could barely ask his questions. Even though he knew she was trying to annoy him he felt irritation swell up inside him.

“Angrier than a hornet, ain’t’cha Commander?” Sera said cheerfully as she sat down on a table and swung her legs back and forth. Dagna, the dwarven rune expert Leliana recruited, gasped and hastily rescued her schematics from Sera’s jam covered fingers.

“No.” Cullen said, trying to remain pleasant and professional. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“And I want Lil’ Prissy Pants’s underdrawers roped ‘round the courtyard, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?” Sera sniggered. “‘Cept you. Inky always willin’ to give you a lil’ sugar, innit she?”

“Sera!” Dagna exclaimed, utterly scandalized. “He’s the Commander!”

“Ain’t no biggie.” Sera proclaimed. “He don’t mind none. Now, whazzit with you and ‘Lynny?” She lounged on the table, and Cullen wondered how Sera managed to look so casual and still retain an air of menace. Not murderous menace, but menace nonetheless.

“I wanted to know what you know about Evelyn’s family.” Cullen reached into a pocket in his mantle and pulled out a sheet of parchment. “I’ll trade.”

“For what?” Sera asked lazily, but her eyes gleamed with curiosity.

“You said you wanted bees. You can have your bees.” Cullen argued for hours with Leliana over the usefulness of jars full of hornets, but he won out. Sera could have bees.

“They’re prissy pants nobles and she’s the best of the lot.” Sera said automatically. “Six brothers and a granny, and two fuckwit parents. Now gimme!” She snatched the paper, scanned it, and roared with laughter. Her legs kicked the air at a frantic pace.

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Cullen asked.

“You gave me bees!” Sera hugged the order to her chest. “So, Inky’s six brothers, First is the heir, Second is a Brother, if you know what I mean. Third is the spare, Four and Six are Templars, and Five is a schemer who wants to be First. Her granny is a battle axe. Woman swears she’ll come here as soon as she can hire a coach that’ll carry her.” Cullen tried to sort out numbers and brothers in his head, but Sera jumped off the table and was hugging Dagna and dancing around the forge.

“Bees, Widdle! We’ve got bees!” Sera sang out.

“That’s wonderful, Sera!” Dagna exclaimed, stretching up on her toes to embrace the elf. “I’ll craft the jars you wanted.”

“My Widdle is so clever!” Sera shouted gleefully. “Innit she, Commander?”

“Yes.Thank you, Sera.” Cullen prayed that the bees would be as useful as he claimed they would be. He hoped Sera would use them on their enemies, not visiting nobles. Even if it would be funny.

“I read Inky’s letters. Not the private ones ‘tween you and her, just the ones that she lets me.” Sera shrugged. “All her brothers write. Granny Battle Axe writes. Evelyn’s parents don’t. So either they’re stupid or dead. And they ain’t dead, a Jenny let me know.”

Cullen left the area to let Sera celebrate her bee victory with Dagna, and he pondered what he had learned. Six brothers. Such a large family, and yet not one visited. No one came to see her. Cullen didn’t dare to write to Evelyn and ask her. He would speak with her himself.

The opportunity came sooner than Cullen anticipated. Evelyn came back from the Wastes, tired and bruised but happy. It was evening, and she dragged out a worn down wooden chess set and set it up in front of the fire.

“Care for a game? I’m determined to beat you this time.” Evelyn’s smile was infectious, and Cullen found himself grinning as he sat on the rug across from Evelyn and watched her arrange the pieces on the board. He sipped his tea and grimaced at the taste of oak moss. It was good for him, he reminded himself, but it was bitter. So bitter.

“You’ve won a few of our matches, as I recall.” Cullen said. “So eager for another victory?”

“You have the winning record, Cullen. But this match will be mine.” Evelyn declared. She graciously gave Cullen the first move before beginning a vicious attack against his pieces. She was singularly focused on taking the powerful pieces, and Cullen moved his pawns ever closer to her queen.

“When did you learn to play?” Cullen asked. “I learned with my siblings. Mia was a ruthless opponent.”

“My brother Lawrence taught me. He sent me this set on my sixteenth birthday. We were not supposed to have personal belongings in the Circle, but First Enchanter Lydia made an exception as long as I shared with the others.” Evelyn moved her cleric two squares to the right, a clean diagonal that prevented his fortress from moving any further up the board.

“You have siblings.” Cullen recognized an opening when he saw it, and he pounced on the topic.

“Six brothers, all older than me. But you knew that.” Evelyn smiled up at him, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Sera let me know you were asking about me.”

“Friends helping friends?” Cullen asked.

“She wanted to brag about her bees and Dagna.” Evelyn said. “I should have told you sooner. You’ve been open with me.”

“I apologize for snooping. I should have asked you about your family.” Cullen moved another pawn. “I thought my family was large, but I can’t imagine having six siblings.”

“Father wanted an heir and spare, and Mother wanted a girl to dress and take to parties.” Evelyn said calmly. “There’s a reason I’m the youngest.” Her voice was light as she spoke, and Cullen recognized the barely concealed hurt from his dream. Her dream.

“That must have been hard.” Cullen murmured. Evelyn’s expression was cloudy, her eyes misty with memories. Unhappy memories. She looked terribly sad, and she drew her ugly Starkhaven plaidweave shawl around her narrow shoulders.

“I wasn’t a person to them. Just a doll. I was even terrible at that.” Evelyn sighed and slid her cleric over to take one of Cullen’s. “I moved around too much to be a good doll. My nanny and governess chased after me all the time. Every dress I ever owned had mud stains on it.”

“My mother had to lock my nicer clothing in a chest for the days we went to the Chantry.” Cullen confessed, hoping to pull the sadness out of Evelyn’s eyes. It worked for a moment. She chuckled and her dark eyes were bright, but they turned cloudy again.

“My older brothers were hardly around. Maxwell, Lawrence, and Robert were so much older, and Alexander and Corwin were at a boarding school in Orlais much of the time. Benedict is only three years older than me, but he had a different set of tutors. I rarely saw him.” Evelyn paused to take a sip of her tea, a sweet herbal concoction that smelled of peaches. “They care, of course. They all wrote to me when I was in the Circle, though I get more letters from them now that I’m here. Alexander and Benedict joined the Templar order, and it was such a relief to hear news of them. I didn’t know if they left before Seeker Lambert or Samson got to them.” Her hands shook as she set the teacup on the floor next to her.

Cullen reached across the board and took Evelyn’s hands in his.

“How are your brothers? What are they like?” Cullen asked. He let the chess game sit forgotten between them. Evelyn squeezed his hands tightly, and her eyes softened. She was back with him, and not lost in sad memories. 

She hesitantly shared stories of happier times with her brothers, a few shared moments where her siblings were together before they all went their different paths. Evelyn told stories of her brother Benedict and Corwin sneaking out of a party to give her stolen sweets, of Maxwell patiently helping her with her music lessons, of Lawrence teaching her chess while teaching her the Chant of Light. Alexander told her stories of far off places, and Robert would ruffle her hair and ask her opinion on different trade deals throughout the city. Cullen traded his own in return, stories of Mia being obstinate and cutting deals with her younger siblings to get out of the chores she hated. Stories of baby Rosalie getting into trouble. Stories of Brandon jumping off the barn because he was certain he could fly. He told her tales of him trying to escape his loud and wild siblings for a moment of quiet, only to be discovered and chased out of his latest fortress of solitude. Each story brightened her face, and by the time they were done the fire was low in the fireplace and she was laughing again.

“It was nice to think of happy times with my brothers.” Evelyn said softly. “I never talked about them in the Circle.” She had long since curled up next to him, her head resting on his shoulder. She wrapped her shawl around both of their shoulders, and Cullen wrapped his arm around her.

“To prevent homesickness.” Cullen acknowledged. “There are similar practices among the Templars.” There was no express rule against speaking of your life before training, but most recruits had no life to speak of before they began life in the Circle. There was no one to swap stories with, and none of the Templars spoke to the mages.

“Is that why you haven’t gone to South Reach to see your sister?” Evelyn asked hesitantly. “Templar tradition forbids it?”

“It… in some ways yes.” Cullen said. “The Order wants its members to be devoted to the cause. Family is considered a distraction.”

“I see.” Evelyn murmured.

“It is more complicated, and I left the order. I’m explaining it poorly.” Cullen sighed. “I’m not the boy my family remembers. I’m… I’m not who I was back then.” Tainted. Wrong. He was broken- no, injured. Healing.

“You’re afraid.” Evelyn breathed. Cullen couldn’t answer. He just held her closer.

“I- Evelyn. There are things I’ve done. Things I regret.” Cullen eventually tried to say. “I can’t return to my family without giving myself to fixing what I helped break.”

“You mean Kirkwall.” Evelyn said. “You want to make up for what happened in Kirkwall.”

“I will never go into that city again.” Cullen muttered. Kirkwall could rot and tumble into the sea, and it would be the better for it. “But I was there. I did nothing to stop the chaos. I contributed to it.”

“You were hurt and afraid.” Evelyn tried to comfort him, but Cullen brushed it off.

“It’s no excuse.” Cullen sighed. “I knew the mage who blew up the Chantry. Anders. He was in Kinloch when I was a recruit. Talented Spirit Healer. A hot head, a bit vain and sharp tongued, but… but he was a good man. A kind man. And Kirkwall was such a cesspool it turned him into a killer and a fugitive.” In a kinder world, Anders could have been a great healer and leader of mages. In this world he was either dead or on the run. In Cullen’s most private thoughts he hoped the strange man with a great affection for cats and terrible practical jokes had found some measure of peace either in life or death.

“Kirkwall seemed cursed.” Evelyn murmured, and he knew she was thinking of the Ostwick mages who lived in the Gallows for a year before they were recalled to Ostwick. She was thinking of the five who left, and the three who returned traumatized. She was thinking of the two who returned Tranquil.

“I read some of the letters you sent to Orsino.” Cullen confessed. “Meredith had us burn all correspondence once she discovered them.” Cullen had done as he was told. Who was he to stand against the Knight Commander? She had said the letters would encourage rebellion among the mages. She told him that a firm hand would keep the Gallows from destruction from within, and he had seen what happened at Kinloch. He felt it. He was all too eager to be cold and harsh.

“I know.” Evelyn replied. “I was told.”

“I’m sorry.” They were small words, but it was all he could say.

“I know.” Evelyn squeezed his hand. “Sometimes I imagined making the trip down to Kirkwall myself to find out what happened to the mages. First Enchanter Lydia always stopped me. She was furious when she found out I wrote those letters. I was given the task of passing out lyrium to the Templars for an entire month as punishment.”

“That was a punishment?” Cullen couldn’t believe that Ostwick gave its mages chores to punish them. Meredith would have chained them, much like Gregior would have. The only difference would have been time spent imprisoned. But chores?

“She knew I hated it, and no one would dare let me into the kitchen. I’m a miserable cook.” Evelyn explained. “What did you think of the letters?”

“They were angry.” Cullen recalled. “I assumed you were pampered and throwing a tantrum. So I burned them.”

“Just like that?” Evelyn sounded surprised.

“I’m glad you never met me in Kirkwall. I was not a good man then.” Cullen said. “If we met I would have treated you poorly.” It horrified him to think that he would be able to treat Evelyn coldly, but he knew it was true. He would not have seen her steady nature, or her uncanny ability to figure out what was on his mind, or her concern for everything and everyone she met. He would not have appreciated her curiosity, her hunger for knowledge, the delight she took in learning new songs to sing or stories to tell. He wouldn’t even notice her love of plants beyond the usefulness it could have provided his Circle. He would have seen Evelyn Trevelyan as a mage, powerful but untrained, and watched her as if she was a tiger always on the verge of lashing out at him.

He wouldn’t have seen her.

“I would have been awful to you as well.” Evelyn admitted. “I was nasty to you when we first met, treating you like you were a necessary annoyance. I should have tried to be your friend, not your enemy. We could have been where we are a whole lot sooner.”

“We both should have tried.” Cullen replied. “I fell into the trap of thinking of you as a mage first. It is a hard habit to break.”

“Here’s to breaking habits and traditions.” Evelyn said solemnly, toasting him with her teacup. The tea had to be cold by now, but Cullen lifted his own mug and toasted her back. And later that evening when they went to bed and Evelyn brushed her hands over his face and murmured gentle praise as he lavished care over her body and the bruises fading along her side, Cullen was pleased to break more traditions. The Chantry would bind him no more.

He woke in Evelyn’s dreams again, and he watched as Evelyn hurried about their country home, muttering to herself and adjusting different objects in the rooms. She was not pregnant, and he did not see the children. He wondered where they had gone.

“Evelyn? What’s wrong?” He asked.

“What’s wrong? My family is visiting! That’s what’s wrong!” Evelyn exclaimed as she paced around the table. “Andraste’s tits, I haven’t seen them in years, what do I say? What do I do?”

“Say hello and offer them a place to sit and rest a while.” Cullen said. She was upset and panicking. She was vulnerable to outside influence. To demons. But Cullen could calm her. He would keep her safe in her dreams.

“You make it sound easy.” Evelyn muttered, and she wrapped her arms around Cullen’s waist. “What do I say to them? How do I act?”

“Like you always do. They are your guests, they should be on their best behavior.” Cullen said. He held her and ran his fingers through her loose hair. Evelyn sighed and buried her face into his chest.

“My parents aren’t coming.” Evelyn muttered. “I didn’t expect them to, but still.” Her disappointment was palpable, as was her relief.

“They don’t deserve you.” Cullen replied. “At least your brothers are coming in.” All six brothers. Cullen wondered if this house had enough room for them. He wondered if Evelyn hoped her brothers would visit Skyhold. At least there would be room for them there.

“Sometimes I worry that I’ll end up like them.” Evelyn confessed, bringing Cullen back to their moment. “Self centered. Cold. I know I can seem cold, and I don’t want to be.”

“You won’t turn out like that.” Cullen promised. “You’re not your mother or father.” He saw her with her friends, with their dream children, and Cullen knew she would never treat her family like tools or ornaments. She would be a wonderful mother, a wonderful wife, a partner in every respect. 

“You always know what to say to make me feel better.” Evelyn murmured, and they stood together in the house in her dreams- their dreams. It was a comfort Cullen was happy to indulge in, and they stayed together through Evelyn’s dream until morning came and they woke up to a new day.

Cullen’s curiosity about the life Evelyn lived in the Circle only grew as they grew closer. He knew mages lived different lives. He witnessed it, living side by side with them as their guard in the Circle. But hearing Evelyn speak of her time as an apprentice, then as an Enchanter, was enlightening. Yet he wanted more. He would always want to know more.

“My dear Commander, Ostwick and Montsimmard were very different Circles. And not every Circle was like Kirkwall or Kinloch, you know.” First Enchanter Vivienne said calmly. She was always calm, even when she was giving out a severe social put down. But she seemed to tolerate his presence and his questions, so Cullen thought to gather more information. 

“Of course, Madame de Fer.” Cullen said politely. “I only wanted your insight on the Inquisitor’s background.” Evelyn said she met Vivienne when she was an apprentice visiting Val Royeux for research purposes. Vivienne was surely full of stories.

“Commander, we are both intelligent people. It does no good to toy around with the meat of the matter.” Vivienne scolded lightly. “What is it you really want to ask, young man?”

“You knew Evelyn before she was an Enchanter.” Cullen said, relieved to finally cast off any attempts at subtlety. “What can you tell me so I can help her feel secure and comfortable in Skyhold?”

“So that’s what you’re after.” Vivienne smiled one of those calculated smiles of her, all politeness and sharpness. “What do you have planned?”

“Evelyn doesn’t sleep through the night. She needs her rest. She thinks of her family. In the Circle she had no expectations of seeing them.” Cullen explained. “But as Inquisitor, I feel that she hoped circumstances would be different.”

“She was never one to use her connections to her advantage.” Vivienne mused. “Half of the apprentices her age didn’t realize she was of nobility.”

“I thought she was disowned.” Cullen said. Evelyn said her parents got rid of her. Her brothers wrote, and six was more than two, but wasn’t Marcus Trevelyan the head of the family? Josephine would know. The world outside the Circle and demon killing was not of great concern to the Order.

“Not by her grandmother.” Vivienne explained patiently. “Adelaide DuPont Trevelyan is the hand controlling the house. She never disowned her granddaughter. She was the one who kept Evelyn in Ostwick. All the reports indicated she was to be sent to Starkhaven.”

“Sera described her as a battle axe.” Cullen muttered, and he wondered if the woman truly was as frightening as she sounded. The Chantry did not bow to many, but she clearly had influence.

“An apt description.” Vivienne said dryly. “Battle axe. Evelyn is as clever as her grandmother, but not nearly as ambitious. I had to push her to attend a summer garden party and connect with her peers when she came to the White Spire. Ostwick was… very different.”

“How so?” Cullen asked.

“It was simple. Known for producing fine scholars, but very plain. The effects of her upbringing are still seen today.” Vivienne gestured out the window to the gardens. Cullen saw Evelyn walking with Dorian. Flashy Dorian was dressed in his fine robes and jewels, and Evelyn wore a plain linen blouse and leather leggings. She held a potted plant in her hands and was saying something to Dorian, who smiled indulgently as they walked. Two mages, and they were as different as night and day. It seemed a miracle that the two were so fond of each other, but there they were.

“The only reason she can politic at all is because of her grandmother. The woman trained her to be a diplomat. But Ostwick Circle trained a healer and scholar.” Vivienne said. “She plays the Game well, but that is not where her heart lies. She wants to putter about in her garden. That is what eases her mind.” Vivienne turned to Cullen and smiled. It was vicious.

“So what will you do with that information, my dear?” She asked, her tone pleasant and her eyes hard. “The Inquisitor has enough guards with their spears pointed out to guard her and in to protect themselves. The world watches her every move. There are plenty who want her dead. She needs support.”

“I am well aware of that, Madame de Fer.” Cullen said. Had he not assigned a personal guard to keep tabs on Evelyn in case of assassination attempts? Had he not prevented them himself? He knew what dangers she faced.

“Then you are aware that I do not approve of your fraternization.” Vivienne replied. “But she is happy with you, and you clearly adore her. And you are good man. The reports in Kirkwall always showed you were a man of honor. Your temperament is also much better than the reports indicated.” Cullen felt shame flush his cheeks, and he remained silent as they looked down into the garden and Evelyn’s cheerful repotting of the plants.

“She is a good woman. A skilled leader, fierce but kind. Perhaps too kind.” Vivienne said. “She will need your strength to survive this ordeal. Will you give it to her?” Cullen nodded mutely, for there was no other option.

For Evelyn, he would give everything.

 

Cole was sitting on his desk when he returned to his tower after his talk with Vivienne. Sitting was perhaps the wrong term. The spirit boy was crouching on top of the desk, his pale eyes staring out from underneath the brim of his large floppy hat.

“I thought seeing the dreams would help.” Cole said, his voice shaking. “She has so many, and I thought you should know.”

“I should have known.” Cullen replied. Of course it was Cole. Cole had drawn him into Evelyn’s dreams. Cole arranged it all. But now the boy seemed unsure. Upset, even.

“She was sad. She did not think you would want what she wants, but you do!” Cole insisted. “You want as much as she does, a little fire, whispered voices, her hand in yours while you look over the children- why won’t you tell her?”

“Because it is not simple, Cole.” Cullen sighed, exhaustion creeping upon him like a wolf on a flock of sheep. “Because there’s a war and we can’t indulge in a family. I don’t even know-” Would Evelyn want his children? Where would they stay? How would they live? The dreams indicated that she desired a simple life, but dreams were just dreams. The waking world was more complex.

“I have upset you.” Cole fretted. “And you don’t understand, which makes you more upset.”

“You meant well, Cole.” Cullen said. Cole was still distraught, and he hopped off the desk. Cullen could not explain that he was not angry, not upset, only sad that he could not have what the dreams dangled in front of him. Evelyn may think, in her most private thoughts, that he could be a husband and father. Cullen knew he was not ready. He was too entrenched in the life of a Templar. He was too solitary, too hurt, too-

“You aren’t broken.” Cole insisted. “Healing, but whole, and getting better day by day. And she loves you, just as you love her- no. I’ve said too much. You should forget.” Cole disappeared then, but Cullen did not forget. That night he fell asleep at Evelyn’s side, and he did not forget.

They were playing chess, and all three of their children watched the match with rapt attention. Evelyn seemed at the disadvantage, being down her two clerics and a castle, but Cullen saw the many moves she could make to take down his queen and put his king in check. He was about to move a pawn to prevent Evelyn taking his queen. He opened his mouth to tease her, to ask the children for their opinions on the match, to ask for suggestions, when the room froze. The flames in the fire stopped their dance, the noise ceased, the children did not so much as twitch in their spots, and Evelyn’s beautiful face was trapped in a wry half smile. Her dark eyes gleamed, and a strand of dark hair fell over her shoulder.

“Cole informed me that he had made a mistake and upset you.” Solas’s cool, cultured voice filled the room. “It seems he worried for nothing.”

“Solas.” Cullen greeted the elf cautiously as he materialized onto a wooden bench set against the wall. “I did not mean to upset Cole. Will you tell him that?”

“He already knows.” Solas replied. “He meant it as a kindness. He wished to assure you that your desires for a family were reciprocated.”

“He meant well. For all that he is, he always means well.” Cullen said, for as strange and suspicious as the boy was, for all that he did, Cullen never detected a hint of malice from the spirit. His eyes returned to Evelyn, frozen in her smile. What had Solas done to her?

“She is fine. We are merely residing in a moment.” Solas explained. “I thought I should speak with you. Assure you that all was well.”

“I thought so.” Cullen sighed. As he did not seek out Solas, Solas found him instead. Solas’s pale blue grey eyes pinned him down next to the chess board.

“Cole has protected her. He knew he could keep her dreams safe from demons, and believes it is the least he could do.” Solas explained. “But when her dreams were full of you and her longing, he was confused. He came to me for advice.”

“What did you tell him?” Cullen asked, though he knew the answer.

“It is a simple thing to allow another into your dreams, if you wish it. I told Cole to let you in.” Solas explained, as if it were all so easy. “If Evelyn did not wish for your presence, you would have never been allowed into her dreams.”

“So you are the one who let me into her mind.” Cullen said softly. Of course it was Solas, quiet Solas with his knowing eyes.

“I suggested, and Cole opened the way. You and Evelyn did the hard work.” Solas explained. “I must congratulate you, Commander. It is a rare mage who can navigate the Fade, and rarer still for one without the talent.”

“Dorian wonders about my bloodline.” Cullen replied absently. “He thinks there may be a somniari in my family history.”

“He would.” Solas snorted. “Researching bloodlines is his national pastime.”

“What do I tell her?” Cullen asked. He did not expect or even want an answer. He merely let the the question hang in the air, even though he knew the answer.

“I will let you both wake up now.” Solas said calmly. “And you will tell her everything, because I know you are noble and honest. Cole will protect the Inquisitor’s dreams, because she deserves some measure of peace. And I will be in the atrium, ready to advise you if you have a need.”

“That is kind of you, Solas.” Cullen said softly. “Thank you.”

“It is no trouble.” Solas said. “But it really is time for you to wake up.”

Cullen bolted upright in Evelyn’s bed, and was relieved to find Evelyn there and awake, just as wide eyed and confused as he was.

“Cullen?” Evelyn asked hesitantly. “Did you… did you have a nightmare?”

“No. A dream.” Cullen said, knowing it was now or never. “We were playing chess.”

“Oh?” Evelyn’s voice was almost a squeak.

“Our children were watching. Leila and Elias. I don’t know the name of our youngest.” Cullen said softly. Evelyn rolled over and curled up into a ball, a small moan of despair and humiliation coming from deep inside of her body.

“Evelyn?”

“Good night, Cullen.” Evelyn muttered.

“Evelyn, please.” Cullen sighed.

“Let me wallow in shame for a few moments. I can’t believe- it was Solas, wasn’t it? He put Cole up to this.” Evelyn sounded utterly miserable. There was nothing Cullen wished to do more than take Evelyn in his arms and soothe away her hurts, but he knew better. She would only grow more upset if she was coddled.

“I thought they were my dreams at first.” Cullen confessed, making the first step into the unknown distance between them. “A home with you, and children. My family nearby. Everything I could never have in the Order.”

Evelyn was silent, but the tenseness in her body eased. Cullen continued to speak.

“When I found out they were your dreams, I only wanted to protect them. Protect you.” Cullen sighed, for letting himself confess his deepest wishes and thoughts left him vulnerable. “You were so happy. I want you to be happy. I should have let you known I had seen them. That was selfish of me, and I am sorry.”

“We aren’t allowed families in the Circle.” Evelyn recited, her voice dull and tired. “Who would want to lie with a mage and risk imparting magic on a child? The risk is too great. So I knew I could never have one. A family. A child. My own family is a mess, so I told myself it was for the best.” Her voice was tight with tears. Cullen reached for her. He could do nothing else. When he touched her back, Evelyn shuddered.

“I buried myself in my duties. I championed the fair treatment of the Tranquil, I demanded safety for my people.” Evelyn said. “I thought that protecting others would fill my life, and it did. But I still wanted.” She turned then, and Cullen caught a glimpse of her tear streaked face before his arms and lap were filled with her, her small body and wild hair all he could see and feel.

“Then the war broke out, and I thought ‘Finally, a chance to do more!’ So I left when my Circle collapsed. I went up to Haven, ready to champion my cause, and- and then-” Evelyn took a deep breath, as if to steady her nerves, and continued.

“When I woke up after the explosion, the world was new.” She explained, her face still buried into his shoulder. “And I met you.”

“Evelyn.” Cullen murmured, and he stroked her back and let her cry. Her body shuddered against his, and he was still surprised to discover how small she was. Dressed in armor and with her steady nature, she always seemed much taller, larger than she was.

“I was so relieved when you were suspicious me.” Evelyn hiccuped. “I thought ‘Finally, something familiar!’ A Templar ready for me to turn abomination. The one constant in my life.” Cullen tried not to let her comment hurt, but it still stung him. He had treated her poorly and she was glad?

“Then you were so polite. Suspicious, but kind. You… you worried about me. Asked after my health.” Evelyn clung tighter. “And I treated you so poorly! I was so cold, just waiting for you to turn on me, but you still-”

“I don’t blame you for your caution.” Cullen said softly. “I understand it, Evelyn. I forgive you.”

“I know!” Evelyn cried. “That’s what makes it worse!”

“No. It makes you human.” Cullen relaxed and settles himself against the pillows and headboard of the bed. “And you were not cruel. You were more polite than I deserved.” She seemed to understand that he was thinking of Kirkwall, and she did not press.

“After Haven I wanted to try again.” Evelyn confessed. “You led the people out. You wanted to protect me from an Archdemon. You saved my cat. You deserved a second chance, Cullen. I was so unfair.”

“I should have never doubted you. I let my past color my perception.” Cullen replied. “I am glad we started over.”

“That’s when the dreams started.” Evelyn said. She pulled away from Cullen, and used a cotton sheet to wipe up her tears. She still held onto Cullen’s hand.

“They were small things. Gardening my own plot of herbs, just for me. Playing with Blackberry in front of a fire. Running barefoot through a sunny meadow. Sitting in my own room, knitting.” Evelyn laughed, another little hiccup of sound. “Maker, I don’t even know how to knit!”

“It isn’t as easy as it looks.” Cullen joked. He knew how to knit, a skill his mother taught all her children. It was easier to darn your own stockings, she lectured, than to whine and wait for another to do the job. Cullen found the task relaxing.

“It was after our first chess game that my dreams had you in it.” Evelyn said, her voice even smaller. Timid. She wouldn’t look at him. “You were in my little house, fixing the roof for me. And all I could think was ‘He would help me, if I asked.’”

Cullen wrapped an arm around her shoulders and did not speak.

“So I started to ask for small things. Whatever I thought you might give. Your advice, mostly. Was I holding a sword properly? Should I send your men to that town up north, or would Leliana’s agents be better suited to the task? How should I go about greeting the men and women in the Infirmary?” Evelyn said. “And you listened to me. You were honest with me. You helped me. I had more dreams as we became friends, and then when I fell in love with you there were the dreams with children and-” Evelyn buried her face in her hands.

“This is utterly humiliating.” Evelyn groaned. “How long have you been watching all this?”

“The first dream, you were with the children and my nephew. You were teaching them about the plants in a meadow.” Cullen murmured. “So, I suppose this has been going on for several months now.”

“Several months?!” Evelyn cried, and she looked utterly distraught. “Maker, you must think I’m an idiot!” Before Cullen could respond Evelyn was speaking again, her words anxious and hurried and so very upset that he could hardly make them out.

“They are just dreams, I don’t expect anything of you, Cullen. You don’t have to give me anything you’re unwilling to give, I swear it. I don’t need to have children to be happy, and I’m sure I’ll just get hoisted off to another Circle once all this is over, Inquisitor or not. You shouldn’t get attached to me, it’s just a foolish dream, who knows if we’ll even survive long enough to-” Evelyn was sobbing now, but her tears were silent. Cullen could take no more. He pulled her into his arms and held her as she cried.

“I have never been happier than that moment when I saw you in that kitchen with my sister.” Cullen confessed, and he was surprised to find his own voice hoarse and strained. “I never thought I could have a family again, Evelyn. You don’t know how much I-” He wanted it so much. He wanted a house in the country, his brother and sisters nearby, children, children with Evelyn- he wanted this peaceful, tender little world of Evelyn’s. He wanted to share it with her.

“They are not foolish dreams, Evelyn.” Cullen said fiercely. “They are beautiful. They were tender and sweet and you deserve every single one of them. And someday they don’t have to be dreams.” He did not know if they would last together. Their relationship was a whirlwind of circumstances flinging them together. But if anyone could weather the storms of chance that threw them together, they could. Evelyn earned her happiness.

“Even if I’m not the one at your side, I will help you.” Cullen said softly. “I will make sure of it. You will have your home, a family of your own. You deserve no less.”

“Even the stupid herb garden?” Evelyn whispered. Her voice shook like a leaf on the wind.

“You can have twenty, if you want them.” Cullen promised. “I’ll dig them myself. No matter what.” Evelyn threw her arms around his neck, and they were kissing. Her lips were warm and slightly chapped, and her face was wet. So was his, and Cullen wondered when he had started crying. But then she pulled away from him, staring up at him with her great dark eyes, rimmed red from tears. Her black hair was a tangled cloud around her head, and her golden skin blotchy from crying. Even when she was a mess she was lovely.

“I wouldn’t want a family if you’re not in it.” Evelyn said, voice soft but firm. “I love you, Cullen. I won’t settle for anyone else.”

“You have me for as long as you need me.” Cullen promised. “I love you, Evelyn.” He was made aware of the possibility of loving her in that moment when Haven was falling around their ears and she shoved a yowling cat into his hands and ordered him to save their people. Her face was covered in blood and grime, and her eyes were fierce and proud and so afraid. That was the moment he realized he could love the woman standing in front of him, and the moment he felt heart shattering regret because he was too late. He had another chance by the Maker’s grace, and he would do everything in his power to make sure Evelyn was happy.

“Someday, when this is over.” Evelyn whispered. “When you aren’t the Commander and I’m no longer Inquisitor, we’ll go to your family. We’ll spend time with them, and then we can see my grandmother and my brothers and even visit some friends. And when we’re done, then we’ll find a home. Somewhere quiet. And you’ll dig those twenty plots for my herbs, and I will learn to cook, and we will finally get to rest.”

“A long deserved vacation?” Cullen teased, and Evelyn laughed. There were no more tears, only her bright smile. He returned it, and his heart felt full.

“No, a new start to a new life.” She declared, and they fell asleep wrapped up in each other. They did not dream, but Cullen knew that someday that farm, that home, that family, someday it would be theirs.

That was a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Unsolicited testimonials? Feel free to comment on this (or any other story of mine). I really appreciate it!


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